


Bruce Wayne Broke His Ass and Now Here We Are

by nothingtoseeherefolks



Series: Bruce Wayne’s Rearing Adventures: A Thrilling Two-Cheeked Saga [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne Breaks his Ass 2, Bruce Wayne is in Bat-Recovery and is Very Bat-Embarrassed, Bruce has to ask for help, Bruce is a Batdad just trying his best, Butt-related puns because that is peak humor, Clark is the caring 80s boyfriend that we all wish we had, Crack, Did I Mention Crack?, Fluffy, Humor, Jason Todd is traumatized, M/M, Sexual References, So is Dick, Spinal chord related injuries are very serious and should be taken as such, Swearing, and probably the rest of them, dear god why did I write another one?, mention of BDSM, the thrilling sequel no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingtoseeherefolks/pseuds/nothingtoseeherefolks
Summary: Sequel to Bruce Wayne Breaks His Ass.“So let me get this straight,” Dick started.Probably not the best word for the situation, he realized, as nothing about this situation seemed in any way, shape, or formstraight, but he continued nonetheless.“You need me to go out as Batman because you’re injured.”“Yes.”
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Barbara Gordon & Tim Drake
Series: Bruce Wayne’s Rearing Adventures: A Thrilling Two-Cheeked Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664647
Comments: 36
Kudos: 283





	Bruce Wayne Broke His Ass and Now Here We Are

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel! Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664647) to see the first work in the series!

“So let me get this straight,” Dick started.

Probably not the best word for the situation, he realized, as nothing about this situation seemed in any shape, way, or form _straight_ , but he continued nonetheless.

“You need me to go out as Batman because you’re injured.”

“Yes.”

“And why can’t you do it?” The man has worked through inebriation, bruises, broken ribs. God knows what else. This couldn’t have been a simple injury. But after thirty minutes into this discussion, the real reason has yet to even be brought up.

”Due to the complexity of the injury, Alfred recommended I rest. After some research of my own, I am inclined to agree.”

There was no way in _hell_ Alfred singlehandedly convinced Bruce to take a rest from going out as Batman. He probably wouldn’t stop until he was either dead or was suffering from some sort of terminal illness. Dick tapped his fingers on the desk, voice full of suspicion. “So, this injury...that’s why you’re having a difficult time moving.”

“That is correct.”

“And even though Clark has been by the manor nearly every day bringing you chocolates and everything you need or want like a 1980s boyfriend in a romcom—that has nothing to do with this injury, right?” Dick may not be quite the detective that Bruce was, but he was far from stupid.

“Correct.”

He sighed, realizing trying to get anything else out of this man was a fool’s task. He switched gears. “...How long?”

Bruce relaxed an inch. Practicality being much more in his comfort zone. “I predict by the end of September I will be recovered enough to resume my position.”

“‘September’?” He repeated. His breath caught in his throat. “That’s...months away.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Spinal chord injuries in particular aretedious and slow to heal.”

Dick paused, trying, but failing, to keep his facial expression neutral. He coughed. “...Your spinal chord.”

A warning glance. _Keep this professional_. “Dick.”

He cleared his throat. “When would I start?”

“Tonight preferably.”

“What will you do?”

“Stay here. Keep an eye on things.”

“Keeping an eye on your spinal chord,” Dick agreed. “Really _ass_ essing your injury.”

“Dick.”

“I’m sure you have a _butt_ load of work to get down around here, too.”

“ _Dick_.”

“Come on, Bruce. I’m no Tim, but you can’t expect me not to figure—“

“Will you do it or not?” Bruce grounded out through his teeth.

“I mean, yeah. I guess so,” Dick said. “It’s either Batman disappears or I do it. It’s not even a choice.”

To the untrained eye, nothing would have happened, but as someone who was as close to Bruce as Dick was, for a second, Bruce looked surprised. “Dick,” he started with a sigh, his voice giving up an inch. “I—“

A slam of a door, and a shout coming from the entrance interrupted the discussion. “ _This_ is the issue you two are were so adamant in discussing without me?”

Dick looked up, seeing a royally pissed off Damian dressed in full Robin regalia.

“You are both ignoring the most _obvious_ solution.”

“Go back upstairs, Damian,” Bruce grumbled, shamelessly ignored by the ten-year old.

“I will go out on patrol by myself. I am fully capable of handling it,” Damian said resolutely. “I don’t need Grayson to babysit me.”

“Robin can’t go without Batman,” Dick argued, feeling oddly defensive of his old persona. “Robin is Batman’s sidekick.”

Damian scoffed. “Who made you the one who decides what Robin can and can’t do?”

Dick glared. “Uh, I did. I’m kinda an expert on Robin, since I, y’know, _made him_.”

A huff. “Boys.”

“Fine. I’ll go out as _Batman_ then. It’s for the best anyway, since Grayson hasn’t worked in Gotham in years.”

Dick snorted. The sheer _arrogance_ of this kid. “You can’t be Batman.”

“Why not? Or are you so ostentatious that you have staked claim over who gets to be Batman as well?”

Dick choked. “You’re under five feet tall!”

Bruce stood, face wincing in pain from the sudden movement for a second, but he replaced it quickly with a firm scowl. “ _Both_ of you stop. Dick you are the adult. Act like it.” He turned to his youngest. “As for you, _Dick_ will be Batman, _you_ will be Robin, and you will _both_ tolerate it whether you like it or not. Trust me when I say _no one_ is happy with this arrangement.”

Dick let out a exasperated breath of air, but didn’t argue any further. Bruce was right of course, he was acting childish, but Damian could bring out the worst of him. The worst of all of them. Dick resigned to silence, but Damian had other plans, however.

“This isn’t fair!” Damian snarled. Immediately afterwards, his face heated red, chagrined by his own outburst. He looked away. “Why should _I_ be punished for your and Superman’s fight?”

Both Bruce and Dick paused.

“What?” Dick was the first to ask.

“Superman is the cause of this injury, Grayson.” Damian rolled his eyes, as if Dick was the idiot here. “Deduced from his current behavior, the apologies, the placement of the mark, and the overall situation it only makes sense that they got in a fight and Superman _spanked_ Father.”

Dick looked mortified. “Oh _God_. Damian—“

“What?” Damian frowned.

“Damian,” Bruce said, tone clipped. A faint dusting spread on his cheeks—the ones on his face, specifically. “Please be quiet.”

Damian looked genuinely confused. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, Father. It was intended to humiliate and demean, surely, but it is up to the spankee to determine how he or she should react.” He went further, ignoring Dick’s pleas. “He clearly too far in an attempt to assert his dominance in their fight, so that is why Superman is apologetic,” he explained. “It’s quite simple. I don’t see the issue in me saying it—Grayson, why are you laughing?”

Dick, red in the face, finally retrieved his breath before bursting out laughing again. “Oh my God, Damian. Stop, I don’t need any more BDSM visuals of Bruce and _Superman_.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed even further. “What’s _BDSM_?”

“No,” Bruce snapped firmly. “Out you go.” Bruce grabbed Damian by the shoulders marched him out the door. Damian looked around bewildered before he was nearly tossed out. As Bruce walked back to his desk, he shot a glare in Dick’s direction.

“Sorry,” Dick said. “But in my defense, the kid has witnessed people tortured before, people murdered, he works in the grimes of Gotham—how the hell was I supposed to know he hasn’t had the ‘the talk’ before?”

Bruce didn’t seem at all swayed by this logical explanation. He grit his teeth. “What ‘talk’ with a child do you know involves the mention of BDSM?”

Dick gave him a look. “When the giver of said ‘talk’ is as thorough as you, and has an four hour long PowerPoint presentation detailing the nitty-gritty science behind love-making—I still remember it very vividly, mind you. It was very traumatic.”

Bruce made a noise as he walked by that might have been a half-attempt at sounding sympathetic. “I canned it after Jason.”

“Lucky bastards.”

Bruce sat back down on his inflatable, still scowling, lowering himself gently on the black, Bat-shaped donut cushion, which squeaked in protest. His glare spoke plenty: _Not a word_.

Dick couldn’t help it, he snorted. Mid-way he tried to disguise it as a cough but it was too late, earning him an even deadlier look.

”I like your cushion. It’s very _on-brand_ ,” he complimented, because he was the kid who always poked the bear with a stick.

However, despite the donut matching his outfit perfectly, Bruce didn’t seem thrilled at having it pointed out. He grumbled irritably, “Clark gave it to me. He found it at some shop off the streets of Malaysia.”

“Yeah. You’re really popular there for some reason.” Dick grinned. “Have you ever been?”

“A few times.”

“Ah.” Dick drummed his fingers on the desk. “So, what are you going to tell everyone?”

“About Malaysia?”

“No. About your broken ass.”

To anyone else, the sudden bluntness would have caught a person off guard. Dick had hoped that it would to be polarizing, or at least knock him off balance for half a second, but Bruce didn’t even blink. “I’m not.”

“Really?” Dick asked, disbelievingly. “You don’t think they’ll figure it out?”

“Oh, I’m almost positive they will. I just don’t want to have this very conversation with them. It’s bad enough with you.”

Dick shrugged. Fair enough.

A moment passed between them. Bruce seemed like he had something more to say, but he only quietly worked on his computer. Dozens of faces passed through the screen, some Dick recognized, some he didn’t.

Either Bruce was revving himself up to say whatever he wanted to say, he wasn’t quite sure how to put it, or he was waiting just for the sake of waiting—which was definitely a possibility. Bruce was always one for theatrics.

Dick waited because he wasn’t asked to leave, and after having lived with a man as mind-blowingly irritating as him, you learn to practice some patience. And after a couple minutes, his patience rewarded him.

“...Dick?”

“Yeah?”

Bruce turned in his chair, fully facing his oldest ward. His expression, very serious. “I need you to promise me something.”

This took Dick by surprise. Subconsciously his posture shifted out of its casualness. Bruce wasn’t typically the type to make promises. He always said as long as there are infinite circumstances, promises were impossible to keep. A test, perhaps? Dick raised an eyebrow. “Depends on what it is, but sure.”

“No matter how charming they are, don’t have sex with aliens. Stay far, _far_ away.”

*

**Epilogue** :

A man arrived at the manor on a motorcycle. The visit was unexpected, sure, but he had lived here for most of his life. He had earned the right to crash on the couch when he needed to.

He took off his helmet, and walked through the front door. Titus greeted him, and the man, looking around first to make sure no one was watching, gave the dog a brief petting.

In the main living area he found Tim and Barbara, speaking in hushed tones.

“Hey,” he said, tossing his dirty bag on the expensive carpet. Alfred would be too polite to say anything, but the butler would be sure to wait until he was in sight to clean it up and give him a very pointed look.

“Jason? You’re here early,” Tim said, tone strangely guarded.

“Nice to see you two, too,” Jason grumbled. He pulled his jacket further down to try to hide the mass amount of blood seeping through. Exhaustion weighed heavy over him. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Bruce?” Barbara made a strange face. “He’s, uh, not accepting visitors right now.”

He started walking in the direction of the grandfather clock leading to cave. He grit his teeth. “Well that’s too bad, because I have to talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Tim mumbled, but he made no effort to stop him. “He’s got an ass-load of problems on his plate.”

Jason might be imagining things, but the way he said it sounded strange, like there was some sort of hidden meaning that he was missing. He stopped, staring at the two. Did Tim just elbow Barbara’s side?

Barbara looked away, seemingly very interested in the vase above the fireplace. She cleared her throat before turning back to face him. “He takes on too much sometimes. He really is the buttress of the family, yeah?”

“Don’t be buttering him up, Barb.”

She shoved at his shoulder. “Oh come on, that one was just weak!”

Either Jason had lost more blood than he had realized, or the pair had gone truly and utterly insane. He rolled his eyes, ignoring the snickering pair and walked towards the cave.

As he came down the stairs he heard Alfred’s voice barely above a whisper. Jason could just make out the words. “Sir, this will be much easier if you—“

“No.” Came the immediate response.

“Sir.” Alfred sounded beyond exasperated. “I don’t often argue with you, but I will this once. Abandon your damn pride and stop being a bloody _bitch_.”

Jason’s steps slowed.

Bruce grunted with must have been concession. He could hear a shuffle of clothing.

He looked up.

Now, Jason has seen many things in his lifetime. The inside of the head when he blew someone’s brains out. The lowest of the low taking advantage of others. Torture, unfathomable gore. But when he came down the stairs, Jason saw a scene, above all, he wished he could forget.

Bruce, in a white T-shirt and socks and sandals, was bent over a table with his pants down to his ankles. He groaned, as Alfred rubbed a brightly colored gel on his bruised, naked asscheeks with a gloved hand.

Jason stared, slack-jawed. Bruce looked up, eyes wider, and face redder than he has ever seen him. Alfred, however, looked entirely nonplussed as he rubbed blue gelled medicine on Bruce’s rear.

“Welcome home, Master Jason. Would you like a cup of tea?”


End file.
